


Could Have Been Me

by zoodlino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Babygirl I Can Repress Emotions You Haven't Even Heard Of, M/M, Repressed Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoodlino/pseuds/zoodlino
Summary: Endverse!fic.Cas could live with the single night he spent with Dean, and the fact that they will die without ever having talked about it again. If only it weren't for the doe-eyed Dean from 2009 popping up and reminding Cas of just how much he's lost.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is my first venture into the world of SPN fic but. Let's be real November 5th happened and I am not the same person and I knew I'd end up here eventually. 
> 
> I want to tattoo "shattered at the altar of Winchester" onto my body and this fic is basically the only thing stopping me. Also the fact that it's a terrible idea. UH anyways....

The way Castiel felt about Dean had been... difficult, before. To say the least. And then the world had gone to shit.

Castiel’s grace up and vanished, Croatoan swept the globe, and the no-longer-angel had hoped, deep down, that it would bring him and Dean closer. It wasn’t any easy thing, falling. Was it so bad to wish for a hand to hold through the inevitable loneliness of being human?

Instead, Dean had closed off any emotions he’d ever show towards Cas. Gone were the hands on his shoulders and the tiny fond smiles when Dean thought he wasn’t looking. The only reminiscence of what they’d almost been was the way Dean still called him _Cas._

Not Castiel. Not even “huggy bear”. _Cas_. It was the last concession Dean made. Maybe it was the best he could do. Maybe he didn’t even notice he was doing it.

It made Castiel want to burn his own eyes out. 

There were two ways of dealing with that. There was active confrontation, and everyone knew Dean would rather stick a gun in his own mouth than talk feelings with Castiel. And then there was the weed, and the pills, and the women.

It’s not like they weren’t all enjoyable in their own right. It’s just that they were substitutes at best, vices at worst. It was, truly, the worst punishment for Castiel’s crimes against the host of Heaven. And his overall…life choices.

But thus was his lot now. And it wasn’t like there was an abundance of time left, judging by the state of things. Hope was a dangerous illusion, and not a trade Castiel dealt in anymore.

Then _he_ showed up. And Castiel fell, all-fucking-over again. 


	2. Make Me Wanna Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd initially planned on longer chapters but as always I am merely a vessel for the Muses and they decided on chapterlets so here we go! xx

_three months earlier, sometime around midnight_

There’s a sound outside Castiel’s cabin. It’s not directly alarming, not the heavy footfalls of a potential new Crote. It’s hesitant, like someone is shuffling back and forth.

Call it naiveté, but Castiel doesn’t grab his shotgun before approaching the door. Besides, the sinking feeling in his chest is more than enough to let him know just who is pacing outside.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t turn around, but that doesn’t hide how he flinches at the greeting. Well. He kind of had it coming.

The air outside is crisp, the kind of midnight lull that feels deceptively peaceful, like it’s just another day, like the world hasn’t turned on its head and taken Dean with it.

Castiel shivers a bit, and wraps his bathrobe tighter around himself. He doesn’t know what to say, and frankly, it appears like Dean just got so blackout drunk that he can’t tell whose cabin is whose anymore. 

But then Dean turns around at long last, and Castiel’s animosity fades in a flash. Dean looks well and truly broken, slumped over and holding a nearly empty bottle of whiskey like it’s his lifeline. He’s in a threadbare t-shirt with too many blood stains to count, like he hasn’t changed since coming back from the mission in Detroit.

Cas had been benched for some ridiculous reason or the other, and he’d watched the convoy leave, and wondered if maybe it would be better if Dean didn’t come back. He’s still not sure if he feels bad about that or not. 

“Cas.”

It’s a plea, really, there’s no other word for it. It’s the closest thing to a prayer that he’s heard from Dean since his angelic powers were cut off for good. It’s a stupid thing to miss, but then, Cas is next to human now, and that's what this is, this mixture of stupidity and sentiment and utter longing for things he can’t have, no matter how bad he wants them. 

Human. He just hadn’t realized that underneath everything, it’s what Dean still is, too. 

“Come in, Dean.”

Castiel holds the door open, fighting like hell to repress the urge to gather Dean up in his arms or something even stupider than that.

There’s no version of this story that ends well. But when has Cas ever been able to say no to Dean Winchester? 


	3. I Need Something (To Take Away The Remains Of Your Name)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has consumed me, heart and soul. Also, I'm sorry. :D xx

_three months earlier, cont’d_

As Dean surveys the inside of cabin, Castiel realizes that Dean has never actually been in here. It’s not much, really, since it’s not like the whole apocalpyse situation leaves a lot of free time for interior design.

Somewhere, deep in the ramshackle closet, hangs a dirty old trenchcoat. But Dean probably doesn’t want to know that.

Castiel is wracking his brains for something to say. Offering Dean something to drink seems a bit nonsensical. He’s only heard the camp gossip about Detroit and Sam, but if it’s true, nothing he says will make a difference anyways.

How do you console someone you have barely exchanged words with for years? And, in a scarier vein – what does Dean _want_?

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”

Gruff as ever, Dean almost sounds normal, and Cas is a little impressed that, inebriated as he is, Dean is holding it together enough to maintain his usual pitch.

“Do I really need to?”

Dean scoffs. Castiel rolls his eyes, exasperated and a little fond, an old habit that he can’t seem to shake. And then– and then the fight seems to drain out of Dean entirely. A choked gasp leaves his lips, and it builds, until Dean is doubled over, only guttural sounds escaping his lips.

The bottle rolls to the side, spilling the rest of its contents all over that hideous rug that Cas detests. Idly, Cas thinks that that’s probably an improvement, and a hysterical giggle bursts out.

“Something….funny?”

Dean is glowering at him, tears streaking his face, and he is so full of self-righteous fury that Cas wants to smack him. Or kiss him. Unfortunately, it’s a mixture of both.

“If what I’ve heard about today is correct, I believe we are now – how do you say? Truly, and utterly, royally fucked? Which is saying something, because these past few years haven’t exactly been rosy.”

Dean looks torn between agreeing and throwing something at Cas. But the thing is, given the emotions that Dean is openly displaying - in front of Cas, no less - there is a fairly big chance that Dean is going to wake up without a single memory of this midnight breakdown.

So maybe it’s time to pull out the big guns.

“Doesn’t feel so great losing everything you’ve ever cared about, does it?”

Cas means Sam, really, but he also doesn’t, at all. He is a bitter, pathetic little human now, and he’s held his silence for far too long.

Dean is awfully quiet, even if he’s now pulled himself into a sitting position, hugging his knees to his body. It feels weird for Castiel to be towering over him, this stranger who wears Dean’s face but also hasn’t been Dean for a long, long time.

And yet, underneath all the sadness, Cas can feel a fury thrumming through his veins that used to be associated with smiting. As it is, he will have to settle for something more practical: throwing every single thing he’s never wanted to say at Dean’s head.

“I’d say it gets better, but really, it doesn’t. So I can’t do anything, anything at all to make this better, Dean. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I think it may be better if you leave.”

Dean refuses to meet his eyes, instead fixating on the carpet stain.

“You know what? You stay, I’ll go, oh, bunk with Chuck or something.”

Nothing. Not a noise, not a glance. Castiel has felt every day for the past few years how little Dean cares about him anymore - if he ever did in the first place - but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Castiel.”

Damn that impossible man. Cas stops in his tracks. “Yes?”

“Are you….I mean, I know you’ve tried, and I know the angels have left us all to die or whatever, but is there…anything you can try…to just…”

“Get my grace back?”

Dean nods.

“And do….what? Smite Lucifer? Make this all okay again? Turn back time? In case you haven’t been paying attention, Dean, _there’s no way out_. None. The happiest we are going to get is when we finally get to die!”

Cas is reeling, furious at Dean for suggesting he hasn’t tried hard enough to make this better, that he has some hidden ace up his sleeve that he just hasn’t bothered with-

And suddenly, Dean is kissing him.


	4. I'll Be Good

_three months earlier, still_

Of all the times Cas has imagined and cursed the very idea Dean kissing him, reality is really quite different. Gone are the fierce, bruise-like kisses of his wildest, most self-hating dreams.

This Dean, the real, solid Dean in front of him, is holding him like he’s something fragile, something precious. He releases Cas‘ lips only to pepper kisses across his face, his temples, the corner of his mouth, the junction where his head meets neck.

Despite the tiny voice in his head telling him to stop, stop while he still can, Cas sighs into every one of Dean’s movements. When he opens his eyes again, Dean is holding his gaze, cradling Cas‘ face in his hands.

The very tenderness of it shatters Cas to his core.

As does the chilling realization that follows. Dean is allowing himself to feel. Dean is showing Cas all the love he’s ever dreamed of. This can only mean one thing. In the morning, Cas will be alone, and every morning after that, too.

Cas‘ knees almost give out from under him, but Dean is there to hold him, to soothe him. They both know what this is. Cas really ought to be a better man, and stand by his earlier impulse to ask Dean to leave...

They both know that’s not going to happen happen.

Having Dean Winchester, fearless leader, wide-eyed and flushed in his own sleep-rumpled sheets...well. It’s not like Cas really needed any persuasion to lead him to bed.

/ / /

The nagging regret that Cas had been pushing to the back of his mind rears its ugly head as soon as Dean pulls away from him, still breathing heavily.

But the hardness in Dean’s jaw is back, so different from the open vulnerability of just a few minutes prior.

There are so many things Cas wants to say. Not one makes it past his lips. And....Dean knows. He already knows.

Which is what makes it even worse when Dean shrugs his clothes back on, bloody shirt and all, and gives him a leering grin. “Hell, Cas, never would have thought you’d make a good lay.“

Cas knew this was coming. It’s textbook Winchester, but damn if it doesn’t hurt. He should play it cool, throw back a vaguely raunchy statement, maybe. He almost opens his mouth, words half formed, when he thinks better of it.

“You know it…doesn’t have to be anything. We can just….” Castiel gestures back and forth between them absently. “….again. If you wanted.”

A grimace graces Dean’s face. “What, do you think we’re boyfriends now? Just because we fucked?”

Oh. So that’s what heartbreak feels like. This is Dean’s story, and he’s going to stick to it to his dying breath, Cas has no doubt. A fuck. Nothing more.

“I believe that’s an oddly ill-fitting and simplistic notion compared to all that we are to each other. I mean- that we could be.” Cas tries to correct himself, but it’s too late, he can see it on Dean’s face in the half-light.

Then again, wasn’t it always too late for the two of them?

Castiel chastises himself for even trying. But then, when Dean stretches his hands above his head briefly, clearly trying to feign sleepiness, his shirt rides up, revealing the very prominent bruise marks at his sides. In the shape of Cas’s hands, really.

And Cas loses it, all at once. Dean let him do that. It’s no dragged-you-out-of-hell handprint, that just sort of…happened. No, Dean let Cas fuck him, and loved every second of it. He can’t be okay with this just…being over.

“Dean. Please.” It’s as much as Cas dares to say.

“Cas. Let it go, man.” Dean makes for the door, and Castiel, the stupid, stupid human that he now is, blocks his way bodily. What does he have to lose, really? Cas grabs Dean’s hand, presses it to his own shoulder in a mimicry of the handprint that still mars Dean’s own arm.

“Dean. I know this is…less than ideal, that I am not…who I am when we met. But I have loved you for everything you are for as long as I can remember. Please, just…don’t go. Don’t…don’t leave me. I’ll-” Cas chokes on his own emotions. “I’ll be good.” 

He may as well be screaming out his love toward the empty Heavens.

And Dean….Dean _glowers._ He rips his hand loose from Cas’ grip, and uses it to shove him back a little for good measure. Now this is the Dean he knows. 

“Get a grip on yourself, man.”

Castiel… just snaps. Words are rushing through his mind, and he picks the most hurtful ones to throw at Dean. “I wish I’d left you to rot in hell! I wish I’d never touched you! I wish-”

The door slams shut.

Cas is left with ringing ears, hands curled into fists at his side, and bile rising in his throat as he stifles the urge to vomit. Well. So much for that.

The next day, Cas invites a handful of women to his cabin. And so it goes.


	5. The Only Memory (Is Us Kissing In The Moonlight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this turned out a lot longer than I expected! But hey, it is what it is, eh? 
> 
> Also, fair warning: I'm tweaking canon a little. Not wildly, but there is bending happening. But it's in the name of homoeroticism, so can you really blame me? :D 
> 
> Enjoy! xx
> 
> PSA: Endverse!Cas consumes way too many substances in the worst combos ever. Please, do not do that.

Castiel is straight up not having a good time.

He hasn’t been for a long time, of course, but just when you think you’ve hit rock bottom, the God-less universe sends you a shovel and yells “start digging, motherfucker!”

It was devastating, yes, to hold Dean, to know that the way he feels isn’t all that different from the way that Cas feels, and to know that nothing will ever come of it by daybreak. To know that something deep inside Dean has broken for good, beyond Cas’s reach. 

Cas has made his peace with that. Or, at the very least, Cas makes heavy use of various types of narcotics and pharmaceuticals to get his mind off the subject.

But even without the host of Heaven, the universe is apparently intent on making him miserable.

What the fuck else could this be? This guileless, doe-eyed Dean, standing in the doorway of a cabin that Castiel’s Dean would never again enter on the threat of death?

Cas is leading what he loosely refers to as his prayer circle, with a bunch of women who find the hippie shtick attractive. If nothing else, Cas takes some comfort in the fact that he can provide something they want and need. Well. Besides the whole orgy thing. That’s probably a fairly big factor, now that he considers it.

A tiny, ever so small part of Castiel… no. He doesn’t dare say it. Or even think it. This isn’t his saving grace, this is more pain on a pretty silver platter, served with a ribbon and a sign that say “fuck me”.

Shit. Maybe Cas needs to take it easy with the weed. The alcohol. The weed-alcohol-combination. He quickly wraps up his meditation, and sends the women off to wash.

The Dean in the doorway looks almost offended at the mention of the orgy, and Cas grins broadly, because if he doesn’t, the sloppy lock he’s kept on his emotions is going to break. It’s just…Cas isn’t using to Dean caring anymore.

From the best Cas can tell, this is Dean from…a different timeline, maybe? From before it all went to shit? Either way, it almost makes Cas miss the asshole Dean who’s probably prowling around camp somewhere. At least he knows exactly where _they_ stand.

To make things worse, this Dean pleads for him to use his mojo.

The universe has an ugly, ugly sense of humor. To suffer than once was hell. To relive it? Cas is debating digging out that ketamine he swiped last week.

“What happened to you?”

God, even the very voice on this Dean sounds less harsh. It sounds genuinely worried. Cas wants to take this Dean doppelganger and punch him. Or fuck him. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

But he also can’t just take out his anger on a Dean that’s done nothing to deserve it yet. So he plasters on his best stoner smile, and answers, “life happened to me”, in the vaguest, most cryptic manner he can muster.

Outside, there is the sound of wheels churning on gravel. Cas follows Dean outside, through the beaded curtain he had installed when he punched a hole through the door after…well. After.

Cas giggles a little when he sees, even from a distance, the harsh glare of the Dean he knows and hates to love. This is going to be fun, if nothing else.

The Dean next to him sends him a worried glance, and seems on the verge of reaching out before he thinks better of it. Ah. The good old Winchester repression. Not quite as bad and warped as in this timeline, but it’s there.

Before Castiel has time to think on this more, their fearless leader shoots – what was his name again? Cas doesn’t remember – to the yells of his younger doppelganger.

Current Dean’s nostrils flare slightly as they survey Cas near the spot his younger self just came barreling in from. Wow. That sure is new. But then, Cas hasn’t seen his timeline’s Dean in anything other than murky nightmares for…a while. Oh, he’s in meetings with him, no question, but it’s not like he’s ever more conscious than he needs to be.

Cas has the strangest desire to shield this new (or is it old?) Dean from his reprehensible future. But before he can even try and – do what? Cas doesn’t even know, but he _aches_ – future Dean’s barest moment of emotion is over and he is dragging his doppelganger back to his own cabin.

What Cas wouldn’t give to play mouse during _that_ particular conversation.

/ / / 

Later that night, a meeting is called. Cas is just the right side of out of his mind with his very own pharmaceutical cocktail, and even manages to chuckle about the whole Jane/Risa debacle.

Younger Dean seemed so earnest in his explanation of the situation, which once again shows how much he has changed. This Dean still carries his heart on his sleeve, and keeps shooting worried glances at Cas, much to the disapproval of his future self.

Now _that_ would make one fucked up threesome. Castiel stifles another giggle, and current Dean glares at him. Cas winks salaciously. It’s the most prolonged interaction they’ve had…since.

Meanwhile, the Colt is discussed, the plans to kill the Devil, blabla. What Cas has feared is likely coming true: the end, while always nigh, is particularly nigh this time around.

Doe-eyed Dean is proof of that, if nothing else. And he is adorably, innocently offended at the fact that his future self is torturing again. Cas can’t help but laugh at the righteous indignation, and future Dean glares at him.

“What? I like past you.” He punctuates it with a quirked eyebrow, for kicks.

Cas is at that part of the breakup where he wants Dean to hurt. He should probably be aiming for acceptance, or whatever. He’s just so damn angry. And sad. And a whole list of other things. 

The plan, of course, is a suicide mission.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course.”

It’s a loaded a moment between the Dean and Cas of this timeline, and under his usual gruffness and icy demeanor, Dean almost seems surprised. Stupid idiot. Like Cas was going to let him go all kamikaze alone. 

“But why is _he_ coming?” Cas is transparent, oh so transparent, but he doesn’t want Dean’s past self to see this get ugly.

Future Dean’s eyes flash with something. Cas wants dearly to think it’s jealousy, but it’s probably just the absinthe. Both are green, right?

“He’s coming.” This is Dean in fearless leader mode. It leaves no room for argument. Cas gives him a mock salute, and mutters something about preparing the grunts.

In reality, that’s more Chuck’s work, and Dean-as-leader is not impressed. Oh well. At least it sounds better than “this absinthe alone isn’t doing it for me”. It’s the end of the end of the world, so Cas isn’t going to leave anything behind in his stash. It has nothing to do with the two Deans, nothing at all.

/ / / 

A little later, Cas is busy snuffing out the remaining candles so he can get some sleep before the big hail mary. When he hears a creak, he isn’t at all surprised. Dean used to be fairly intuitive, after all, especially concerning Cas.

At the same time, his amped up brain is bringing him back to a different night, and how that ended. Not his finest moment.

“So, how are you liking our reality?” He tries for his old dead pan, but it doesn’t quite work.

Parallel Dean is staring right at him, frowning slightly, as if telling him to knock the bullshit.

“Cas… what happened? Really? And don’t give me that ‘life’ bullshit. What’s going on with-“ Dean looks torn and vulnerable. It’s delicious. It’s the worst thing Cas has ever seen.

“With _us?_ Or him – me? – and you? What the hell, Cas, help me understand. What made you…this?”

Castiel used to be an angel of the Lord. No one made him speechless, ever. Dean, however, used to be very good at it, and it shows. But how can he share this? Tattle on future Dean to his past self? Let himself be comforted by someone so far out of reach he may as well be back in his own timeline already? 

Dean’s gaze hardens. “I thought so. Is it – him? Me? Did I, did he, did we…hurt you? Cas. Tell me.” His voice is lilting and pleading. Cas wants nothing more than to go back to when he took him for granted, the ease between them, and maybe the electricity, too.

“I-… it’s, it’s not…this isn’t…supposed to – you’re…not you-”

Eyes blazing, Dean steps forward, crowding into Cas’ space. “I’m still me, Cas. But you’re…not you. And I want to know why.”

Cas can basically feel Dean’s warmth, and longs to give in, to bury his head in Dean’s neck and let him hold him. But it isn’t _right._ And worse, Zachariah is probably watching. Little creep.

With silence stretching between them, past Dean takes matters into his own hands, literally, and cautiously, like Cas is a skittish animal, wraps his arms around him slowly, gently. Cas wants to scream, wants to die, wants to never let go.

The tears are escaping before he can stop them, and Dean is rubbing circles on his back like he’s a little kid, which of course, he never really was. Cas hiccups, and Dean smiles, a tiny, private smile. Cas wants so bad to turn back time and kiss Dean senseless when he still had the capacity to feel something.

Dean tenses suddenly, and Cas wants to iron out the wrinkles on his forehead with his fingers. This Dean has suffered, God knows, but he’s just so…open.

“What's up, buttercup?” Cas lets the final _p_ pop, and Dean grins, but then sobers. “I-…in this timeline, have we…ever…” He looks at Castiel through his eyelashes, pleading.

No reason to beat around the bush. “Yes, Dean. But it doesn’t end well.”

Dean lets out a breath, and closes his eyes. “Motherfucker. I’m gonna kill him.”

Cas chuckles. “Not the Dean-on-Dean action I had in mind.” That elicits a bark of laughter, and Cas hates every second of this, really. It’s excruciating. It’s also heaven.

“So if we…already, you know, then I guess, I could-”

“You really, really shouldn’t, Dean.” Cas is frozen as much as he is a furnace of emotion. He is a despicable little man, truly, but he can’t move away.

“Yeah, well? To hell with that.”

Dean’s lips on his are hot and heavy, nothing like the sweet kisses Cas shared with his own timeline’s Dean. This is hunger, this is pain, this is the end and beginning of everything. Cas lets go, lets himself forget, just for a moment. He doesn’t deserve it by any extent, but god, does he want it.

/ / /

“What the hell’s this then?!”

A brisk, and sadly familiar, gruff voice interrupts them.


	6. I Need You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, writing the last chapter really took it out of me. Buuut I am back, and ready to keep writing this heartbreak of a fic! 
> 
> Love you guys xx

_2009!Dean POV_

Dean is supremely, utterly struck by the _wrongness_ of it all. Sure, it’s not exactly like there’s a guide on what to expect when a douchey angel plucks you out of your position in time and space to show you some fucked up future timeline…but this just feels. It feels personal.

Zachariah is one pervy fuck.

In all truth, Dean doesn’t like to think about the implications of where he is, and what he’s seeing. Worse, what he’s…feeling. He doesn’t know what’s happening a lot of the time, but he tends to figure it out; this time, there’s no unravelling the fuckery going on. There’s only diving in, head first.

Or, well. Lips first?

He doesn’t really know what came over him. (Oh yes, he does.)

It’s a low blow, this entire thing Zachariah is doing to him. Sam, yes, that’s nothing new. Dean has gone to hell for him, and would again, it’s no secret.

But _Cas_? Nobody touches what they are, or aren’t, to each other.

And then there’s the scary question: how much of this is real? Angels are crazy powerful, yes. But this is just…batshit, even for Heaven’s most pissed off warriors.

Cas. Resilient, passionate-in-his-own-way, courageous Cas. He is there, yes, but he isn’t present, and it’s not just the various substances that he seems to be imbibing constantly. The Castiel of Dean’s own timeline is…a force to be reckoned with. This Cas, however, is a shade. And Dean’s lurking suspicion of how he came to be that way is confirmed much too easily.

It isn’t until he’s holding future Cas in his arms that he realizes just how much he longs for his own Cas. No, it doesn’t matter; no matter how fucked up, this is still Cas. He needs comfort, and Dean is going to give it to him.

That’s what Dean tells himself when he kisses future Cas, too. This no-longer-angel deserves the softest of kisses, really, but Dean can’t help himself; all the pain and confusion and anger he’s feeling melts into their embrace, turning it rougher than he’d prefer.

Yet despite all of that, it would be perfect, really, if it weren’t for his own dickhead of a future self bursting in, looking murderous. “What the hell’s this then?!”

Dean automatically tries to shield Cas from his own doppelganger’s wrath by stepping in front of him protectively. He’s going to have to take a bit to wrap his head around that one, yes. Still, future Dean has done more than enough damage – fucking Cas, then leaving him high and dry?! Dean is uniquely disgusted by the so-called man in front of him.

Unfortunately, in a fight, they would probably be well matched, given the whole, literal incarnation of himself situation they’ve got going.

Cas is the one to interrupt the hostile glowers of both Deans. He steps out from behind the younger Dean, approaching his timeline’s Dean. Cas is shaking is visibly shaking. Fuck. How the fuck did they get here?

“Dean, I- it wasn’t, he – _you_ were just… it didn’t- I swear- I…” Cas is begging, literally begging. There is so much wrong with this scene. And not just that future Dean looks like he’s about to beat the shit out of Cas.

Not happening on Dean’s watch, no fricking way. “Don’t look at him. You’ve done enough.”

Future Dean’s eyes snap toward him. “I’ve done- ” He still doesn’t touch Cas, but he looks like he’s been burned before regaining control of his expression, and accusing Cas, loudly, angrily. “You told him?! How could – that- I- it wasn’t-”

Castiel is silent. Dean can see the world of pain reflected in his eyes and the curt line of his mouth, and he really, really wants to go back to kiss- uh, _soothing_ Cas. 

No. He meant kissing. He is _not_ going to end up like this, and if that means acknowledging his feelings…so be it. No time like the present.

“What the fuck is your deal, man?! You- I- _we_ care about Cas. And if you don’t have anything better to do than rag on him for telling me just how shitty I… _you_ are, you can go and shoot someone else in the head!”

Face growing pale, future Dean does, in fact retreat, all the while staring back at Cas, who is still just…standing there, gazing back hopelessly between the two of them.

Dean watches, helplessly, as the nightmare of his future opens his mouth again. “Cas.”

Oh, that’s it. Dean is going to smother him, timelines be damned.

Future Dean is not deterred. “Is this really…what you want? For me to leave?” The tone he speaks in shows no sign of emotion, but Dean has always carried his feelings in his body language more than anything. And future Dean is essentially screaming for Cas to ask him to stay, whatever that may mean.

But Dean is still here, and he’s ready to body-block himself if that means protecting Cas. “I don’t think you’re what he needs right now, man.”

The beads jangle as future Dean exits, but not without fixing his younger self with an icy glare.

Dean turns back to Cas, unsure where to go from here. “Should we, uh…pick up where we left off?” He tries to give Cas a saucy wink, and it does elicit a small smile from Cas.

“I… Dean, I wish I could, truly, I wish things were so much different. But you…” The sad smile on Cas’ face is enough to break Dean’s heart.

“You’re him, yes, but you also aren’t. Even with everything that he’s done…he’s still it, for me. And I need to go make sure he knows that.”

Dean is left standing in the empty cabin, cursing Heaven, God, and most of all, himself. 


	7. Lips of an Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to Esti, the dean-coded to my cas-coded, who has aided me both in soundtrack for this chapter and a central theme of it, as well as just generally being amazing. Love u, baby. 
> 
> Also, dear readers, I am sorry. :-) 
> 
> (Any correlations to Gone Girl are uhhhh totally unintended..)

Castiel’s mind is racing. He really is too fucking wasted to be dealing with all of this, but then, what can you do? If it weren’t for all the chemicals in his system, he probably would have fainted by now.

Between parallel Dean’s lips on his, hungry and searching, and the unmistakable jealousy of his own timeline’s Dean…it’s enough to throw a guy for a loop.

Dean, his Dean, had wanted for Cas to ask him to stay.

That in itself is so fucking monumental that Cas wants to start crying on the spot. Not that that would be productive in any capacity. Cas just really feels like having a good cry right now.

Still, at the end of the day, it’s likely their last night on Earth. Can’t leave things unsaid, right?

Cas has never been in Dean’s cabin. Didn’t want the ache in his chest that would doubtlessly show up when he heard him fucking Jane/Risa/whoever was up for it that night. It’s a strange feeling, his feet taking him there now, a feeling heightened by the complete stillness of the night.

The door is, surprisingly, ajar. Cas doesn’t even need to toe it open, and just slips inside.

He is greeted by an intensely peculiar sight. Sure, it’s not like he hasn’t seen Dean on his knees before…but not like this. Not so obviously…praying?

Cas wants to say something, he really does, the sight of Dean like this is just so entrancing that he can’t quite get any words out. So he watches, feeling heinously creepy, longing so bad for anything that will show him how Dean really feels.

Dean’s back is to Cas, so he doesn’t notice him, leaning forward to rest his clasped hands on the bed. “Hey, uh, Cas.”

_No._ Of all the people Dean might pray to…Dean is praying…to _him?_ Cas’s heart stutters in his chest.

“I know I’ve been a complete piece of shit, okay. I know this is…none of this, is what you deserve. I’m sorry I can’t do better, I just…can’t. I’m going to die tomorrow, and if I have to use the Colt to put a bullet in my own head after I kill the Devil. At least then, it’ll be over.” Dean’s voice shakes audibly.

Cas has had enough. “Don’t I get some say in that?”

Dean whips around. “Cas, what the fuck-”

“No.” Cas isn’t having any of this, not at the eleventh hour. “You _shut the fuck up_ , Dean. Now.”

Mouth falling open, Dean gapes for a moment, but obeys, lips a hard line.

So that’s how they’re going to play it. Cas can do that. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he strides up to Dean, pulls him up to his full height, and leans in, so close their noses are almost touching.

“You are going to listen to me, and you are going to believe me.” Cas is practically hissing at Dean, and doesn’t have it in him to care or pull away. “You, Dean Winchester, are a fucking mess. But so help me God, you are, and always have been, _worth saving._ You are going to get out of tomorrow alive, and I don’t know what that’s going to mean, but we will deal with it then and not a second earlier.” 

Cas can basically see Dean’s pulse race delicately in the spiderweb of veins in his neck. That’s promising, if nothing else. “You are not getting out of this that easily.”

As if to drive his point home, Cas leans in and scrapes his teeth along the side of Dean’s jaw. In the dictionary, under “unhinged”, there’s probably just a picture of Cas in this exact moment.

His hand is still fisted in Dean’s shirt, and Cas isn’t planning on letting go any time soon.

He does, however, lean back slightly, and lets his eyes travel down to the very visible tent in Dean’s jeans. Dean whimpers, making a noise in his throat that could be anything, really.

“I’m it, baby. And you’re going to take everything I want to give you.” As Cas closes any distance left between the two of them, there is a little scuffle of movement outside, by the window.

It goes unnoticed by the pair, lost as they are in each other. Parallel Dean backs away from the glass, biting his own fist, and almost breaks into a run in his hurry to get the fuck out of the general vicinity of his future self’s cabin. 


End file.
